


i love the smell of gluten in the morning

by polkadot



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Breakfast, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody's asking the ATP players about gluten-free diets. Benoit has a mischievous idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i love the smell of gluten in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is set immediately before/during the US Open. It's been sitting on my hard drive ever since, along with some other little snippets of things, and I finally decided I should just _post it_. ;) Hope you enjoy.

“You know what _I_ think,” Benoit says, contemplatively.

Stan looks up from his newspaper. “What do you think?”

They’ve finished eating, but there’s something pleasingly relaxing about lingering over the breakfast table in the mornings. It’s becoming a bit of a ritual. Sometimes it’s the hotel dining room, with a fresh flower in a vase and overpriced coffee and Lio coming along eventually to bundle Benoit away. Sometimes it’s the venue cafeteria, with half-awake players and too many racquet bags and an odd mix between healthy food and all the bacon in the world. Sometimes it’s their bedroom, with unmade sheets and a sock across the back of the sofa and Benoit’s foot rubbing slowly and distractingly up Stan’s leg.

Today it’s their bedroom, but Ben’s too intent on his own reading to venture a roving foot. “They’re asking all the guys about gluten,” he says, waving his phone too quickly for Stan to make out anything except a blur. “Like, if they would ever think about going gluten-free like Novak or if they think it’s a shitty diet that would make them cry.”

Stan folds his newspaper and sets it next to his coffee. “Not in those exact words, I imagine.”

“I would be a good reporter,” Benoit says, rapping his lip with his finger.

Perhaps this would be a non-sequitur to most people, but Stan knows what he means. “You’d come up with great questions and you wouldn’t pull your punches.”

“Yes,” Benoit says, nodding sagely. “Tomas, is it true that you told Radek you don’t care how many girls he sleeps with, but he is never ever to date Lucie or you will punch him? Andy, who do you think would win an ATP swearing competition, and should it be judged by creativity or quantity? Novak, just how pissed off are you that Rafa came back and is having such a crazy good year, and do you or do you not have a complicated and far-reaching conspiracy to sabotage his water bottles?”

Stan shakes his head, laughing. “You’d be a terror.”

“I’d be awesome. Stan, are you aware that you have Roger beat in at least two very important categories?”

“I thought you were just saying the other day that you wished people would stop asking me about Roger,” Stan says, raising an eyebrow.

Benoit raises both eyebrows, just to one-up him. “This is different.”

“Fine, I’ll bite,” Stan says, feeling magnanimous. It’s probably the coffee. “What two very important categories?”

Benoit’s grin could power supernovas. Although it’s very toothy. “Ass and boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Stan says.

“But back to the point at hand,” Benoit tells him, “which is this gluten-free fad thing. Ugh. I had this awesome idea.”

Stan takes a sip of his coffee, which is really very good, and motions for him to continue.

“So let’s say Rafa wins the US Open,” Benoit says, “because that’s totally going to happen. And let’s say he beats Novak in the final.”

“You have plenty of confidence in us.”

Benoit sticks his tongue out. “Oh shush. You can totally get to the semis or something. But anyway. So Rafa wins.”

Stan reaches across the table to slide a thumb along Benoit’s wrist. He’s about ready to take matters into his own hands and distract Ben from this conversation. “Fine. Rafa wins.”

“And then,” Benoit says, triumphantly, “there’s a massive pile of pastries at the press conference!” He grins. “Rafa could take an enormous bite out of one and raise an eyebrow at the cameras, and it'd be _awesome_.”

Stan gets up from the breakfast table and leans over Benoit, putting his hands on the back of Ben’s chair and bending down to catch his lips. “Don’t you think,” he says against them, “that a gluten fuck-you to Novak might be going a little far?”

“He ripped his shirt and roared when he beat you,” Benoit says, obstinately, slipping a hand behind Stan’s neck. “Gluten fuck-yous are an excellent idea.”

“I know what else is an excellent idea,” Stan says, and relocates them to bed.


End file.
